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Fletcher swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat as he pushed away memories of just how kissable her pink and pouty lips had been, how silken her peaches and cream skin. “I just wasn’t very helpful.”
Joe smirked. “Not being helpful usually doesn’t earn you razor-sharp looks like that.” Since getting hooked up with his wife, Emma, earlier in the summer, the pro athlete in the family suddenly considered himself an expert on all things female. “So what’d you do?” Joe prodded.
I got into a shower in front of her, in hopes of scaring her away. Unfortunately, Fletcher admitted remorsefully to himself, it hadn’t worked. And now, all Fletcher could remember was Lily’s eyes roving over him as her face flushed and her breathing grew shallow. And he wondered what it would be like to see her in—and just out—of the shower.
“Have we been missing something here?” Mac leaned in closer. His work as sheriff had trained him to notice absolutely everything. “Have you two got something going on?”
“Nope.” Fletcher said honestly as Lily sent him yet another heated look. And just as suddenly, inspiration hit. Fletcher caught and held Lily’s eyes until she finally blushed and turned away with a haughty snap of her head. “But we just might,” he drawled.
Dylan scoffed. “Fat chance, considering she’s got her eyes on another prize.”
Fletcher had never taken well to disrespect. He wasn’t going to start now. He finished the last of the barbecue on his plate. “You think I can’t do it?”
“Win her attentions?” Mac sopped up the last of his barbecue sauce with a piece of sourdough bread. “You bet.”
Fletcher set his plate and bottle of beer aside. “You’re on.”
Cal blinked, sure he had missed something. “What?”
Fletcher stepped closer and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “Hundred dollars says I can make Lily Madsen forget all about going out with Carson McRue.”
Joe shook his head, predicting, “She’ll never give up on a date with the hunk, if only because it’ll mean losing the bet she made at her twenty-fifth birthday party last week.”
It didn’t matter to Fletcher. Not in the least. Or it wouldn’t, when he was through waylaying Lily Madsen at every conceivable opportunity. “She’ll do it,” he boasted, to one and all, aiming his thumb at his chest. “In order to go out with me.”
“WHAT WERE YOU and your brothers and future brother-in-law talking about for so long over there?” Lily demanded at the end of the party as Fletcher prepared to drive her home. The palatial, three-story white brick Wedding Inn that Fletcher’s mother ran loomed across the manicured lawns.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Fletcher fibbed.
All four of his brothers and Thad had wanted in on the action. With five hundred dollars riding on his wager—and his secret deathbed promise to Lily’s grandmother spurring him on—Fletcher had powerful incentive to keep Lily from being hurt by Carson McRue.
She looked him up and down, color flooding her face. Feeling an answering heat well up deep inside him, he yearned to throw convention aside and simply take her in his arms and kiss her, if only to stop whatever it was she was going to say to him next. “I don’t believe you,” she said quietly.
Fletcher shrugged and folded his arms in front of his broad chest. “If you must know,” he continued lazily, standing with his shoulders back, legs braced apart, “they were razzing me about the dirty looks you gave me all during the pig-picking.”
Just as he had expected, the attitude he was exuding only served to infuriate her all the more. “Did you tell them what a cad you were?” she demanded with a haughty toss of her head, looking all Southern belle, born and bred.
Didn’t have to. They had guessed as much, and of course, he already knew. Which was another reason, Fletcher figured, it would be best if Lily continued to detest him, both before and after he won his bet, of course. He needed to convince her once and for all she needed to hold out for someone far better than either him or Carson McRue to come along and sweep her off her feet and give her the kind of life she deserved.
“Well, then,” Fletcher said, taking an astonished Lily into his arms and bringing her shockingly close as he prepared to give her something to really loathe him for, “I guess it’s high time I lived up to my ‘reputation.’ Don’t you?”
Chapter Two
Lily couldn’t believe it. Fletcher Hart was actually going to kiss her. Right here as the party was breaking up, in front of everyone getting into their cars. “I don’t—” she said, splaying her hands across his warm, hard chest. Before she could protest further, his lips were on hers, and in one sizzling instant, all reasonable thought left her brain and she was only aware of the sensations rippling through her. The smooth lips. Seductive pressure. The incredibly good taste of his lips and mouth and tongue as he erotically deepened and took full command of the kiss. She’d heard about embraces like this, read about them, even seen them when a few of her friends fell head over heels in love with the men of their dreams, but never had she experienced anything like the tumultuous whirlwind of emotion and pleasure.
And even though she knew, in some distant part of her brain, that Fletcher was only doing this to provoke her, the fun-and-pleasure-starved part of it never wanted it to end. Because fiery hot kisses like this, men who could kiss like this, so masterfully and evocatively, did not come along every day. As his arms wrapped all the tighter around her, and he brought her even closer to his hard, demanding length, Lily moaned, surprising herself with the sensuality of her response, and melted deeper into the embrace. And that was when she heard it—the low male laughter surrounding them.
The sound was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on her head. She broke off the impetuous kiss and looked around to see Fletcher’s brothers chuckling and shaking their heads with a mixture of amusement and chastisement.
“Getting a head start there?” Dylan remarked sarcastically.
“You better watch yourself,” Mac warned as he strolled to the SUV he drove whenever he wasn’t on duty as the Holly Springs sheriff.
Joe sauntered past, his wife Emma’s hand tucked in his. “You could find yourself married before you know it.”
Joe sure had, Lily remembered, thinking of the whirlwind romance earlier in the summer that now had Joe and Emma living as man and wife.
Despite the odds against a happily-ever-after in the situation Joe and Emma had initially found themselves in, Lily had to admit the two looked very happy now.
“Ah, leave him alone,” Cal said, waving off the interference of their other brothers. “It was only a kiss. Kisses don’t mean anything.” Cal turned his attention to her, looking every bit the compassionate doctor he was known to be. “Right, Lily?”
“In this case, definitely right,” Lily confirmed stormily, trying to look as casual as if she did things like this every day when everyone knew she did not.
“From where I was standing it looked like Lily was kissing him back. And that does mean something,” Thad said, as he leaned over to buss his bride-to-be’s cheek. “Right, Janey?”
“That’s where all my troubles started.” Janey sighed, looking as happy as any engaged woman should be as she laced her arm around Thad’s waist and leaned her cheek against his chest.
“It’s all disgusting to me,” her 12-year-old son, Christopher, said, as he tagged along behind his mother and Thad.
“Not to worry,” Lily said, glaring at Fletcher. “It’s not going to happen again.” She hurried to catch up with his older brother Mac. “Care to see me to my car?” she asked as she fell into his protective shadow.
“Be happy to, Lily.” Mac flashed her a reassuring smile before turning to send his third oldest brother a censuring look. “And not to worry, Lily. You’re safe with me.”
UNFORTUNATELY, FLETCHER noticed right away, Lily was not going to be safe with the TV actor who rolled into town the following morning in a custom-outfitted silver trailer.
“Who’s the beauty?” Carson McRue asked as he and Fletcher met to discuss a horse.
Fletcher followed Carson’s glance. It led straight to Lily, who was loitering on the other side of the wooden barricades erected to keep the cast and crew of Hollywood P.I. away from the spectators gathering to watch the action in the town square.
Damned if Lily didn’t look particularly gorgeous this morning, with her tousled blond hair and her sunglasses propped on top of her head. That pale pink sundress she was wearing not only hugged her slender curves to sexy advantage, it made her look like a peach blossom, ripe for the picking. Fletcher did his best to contain his mounting frustration. Protecting the headstrong and way-too-naive-for-her-own-good Lily from heartbreak was going to be no easy task. Especially with her constantly trying to win the bet she’d made with the girls. Fletcher’s only comfort was that the bet he had made was—unlike hers—strictly under wraps to those who had made it with him.
He turned back to Carson, irked by the man’s crassness in everything they discussed. His true personality seemed directly at odds with the great guy he played on TV. “She’s off-limits,” Fletcher stated casually.
Carson lifted a well-plucked brow. “Married?”
“Just off-limits,” Fletcher repeated, doing his best to appeal to the actor’s sensitive side. Assuming he had one. “Her grandmother, who was her only family, died last year. And she lost the cat she’d had since she was five years old, too. She had a very rough time.”
Carson eyed Lily rapaciously, his glance lingering on her hourglass of curves. He licked his lips. “She looks ready to kick up her heels to me.”
Punching out the competition would get him nowhere, Fletcher reminded himself firmly. At least right now. Later, if Carson continued in his current vein, all bets were off. “If you’re looking for…companionship,” Fletcher said meaningfully, “I can direct you to some likely places in Raleigh, Durham or Chapel Hill.” There were dozens of bars in all three college towns. Lots of willing young women who would give anything to spend an evening in the handsome celebrity’s company.
“No thanks. I like small-town girls.” Carson continued studying Lily as if she were an item he’d like to purchase. “There’s a sweetness and a purity about ’em. Besides, you never know…you could be giving one of them the thrill of a lifetime.”
“And then what?” Fletcher asked.
Carson looked at Fletcher as if he were an infant, and not a particularly bright one at that. “We both move on.” Carson spoke slowly and directly.
Only Fletcher knew Lily wouldn’t be able to move on. Were she to be seduced and abandoned by someone like Carson McRue, it would crush her vulnerable heart.
“About the horse,” Fletcher said impatiently, eager to have this business finished so he could go waylay Lily again and keep her from winning the wager.
Carson frowned his displeasure. “It’s the wrong color.”
It was Fletcher’s turn to scowl. “You asked for a roan stallion—”
“I wanted a lighter brown,” Carson interrupted, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “Something with a lot more copper in its coat. This one is too close to the color of my hair.”
Fletcher would have thought the actor was kidding if not for the earnestness on Carson’s face.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Fletcher allowed, with as much professionalism as he could muster, “but stunt horses are in short supply in this area of the country. And since you didn’t want to pay to have one shipped in from the West Coast—”
“Just find what we need,” Carson cut him off. “I’m expert enough to ride even an untrained horse. And while you’re at it—” he pointed to a shady area, half a block away “—do something about those two dogs over there.”
Fletcher turned and looked at the beagle mix and black Lab, sitting side by side in the shade, watching all the activity along with everyone else. “They don’t seem to be bothering anyone.”
“I’m allergic,” Carson announced tightly.
Good to know, Fletcher thought.
“I don’t want them barking and ruining a shot. We’re going to be filming here later.” Carson glared at Fletcher.
“Right.” He nodded as if this were part of his job description.
“So call whomever you have to call and get rid of them,” Carson continued.
“I’ll try their owners,” Fletcher said dryly.
Carson dismissed Fletcher and without a backward glance at any of the fans waving autograph books and calling his name, stepped inside his silver trailer.
Unbeknownst to him, Lily had somehow sweet-talked her way past the security guards standing watch over the barricades and was already heading toward them. She looked disappointed to have missed her chance to wangle an introduction out of Fletcher while Fletcher was talking to Carson. “Hoping to say hello?” he razzed her as she approached, wishing she didn’t look quite so much like a Southern beauty queen this morning.
“Something like that.” Lily looked past him, toward the door of Carson’s trailer.
Fletcher moved to bar her path to the door and stood, legs braced apart, arms crossed in front of him. “Carson McRue specifically requested he not be disturbed,” Fletcher informed Lily with a stern look.
Lily sighed, disappointed. “Maybe later,” she hoped out loud.
Not if Fletcher had anything to do with it. Figuring, however, that Lily would not believe him even if he told her what Carson had just said about her, Fletcher let the opportunity to set her straight about the actor’s true character pass. He gestured toward the two dogs chasing each other on the green. “Want to help me round those two up?” he asked her casually.
Lily’s full lower lip slid out into a delectable pout. “I’m not a dog person. You know that.”
Fletcher could imagine she didn’t want to get her pale pink sundress dirty, and he couldn’t really blame her. It looked expensive. Too expensive to be wasted on a guy like Carson McRue. “How do you know?” he challenged her playfully. “You’ve never owned a dog.”
“So what are you hinting here, Fletcher? That dogs are superior to cats?” She looked down her nose at him. Clearly, she didn’t think so.
“For a young single woman in need of protection—” from men like Carson McRue, Fletcher added silently “—yes. They are.”
Lily lifted a delicate brow. “Maybe from know-it-alls like you,” she acknowledged silkily.
Fletcher looked deep into her eyes, wishing he could haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless again. Just for the hell of it. But knowing that timing was everything, he forced himself to bide his time. He’d not only protect her when all was said and done, he’d win his bet, too. “Just come by the clinic later,” Fletcher told Lily lazily and smiled as her cheeks pinkened all the more. “I’ll introduce you to your new best friend,” he promised.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Fletcher merely kept smiling and didn’t elaborate. If there was one thing he knew about Lily, she loved a good mystery, just like her grandmother Rose.
IT WAS JUST CURIOSITY, Lily told herself. That and the fact she had an order for a sumptuous bouquet to be delivered to the Holly Springs Animal Clinic reception desk at 6:00 p.m. The flowers were for the “staff” but none of the staff was there. Only the founding veterinarian, Fletcher Hart, who was looking mighty fine in a sage-green work shirt that nicely outlined his shoulders and powerful chest, and faded boot-cut jeans that did the same thing for his legs.
Fletcher came around the reception desk and took the bouquet from her with a smile of thanks. “They’ve all gone home.”
Aware her pulse had picked up at the thought of spending time alone with Fletcher—again—Lily leaned against the counter and adapted the same lazy insouciance he demonstrated. She watched him make a big show of setting the flowers in a prominent place on the large U-shaped desktop that fronted the reception area. “You placed this order, not Mr. N. L. Spartacus.”
“Well, he wanted to, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t contact the shop himself so I arranged it for him.”
“And sent that teenager in with a sealed envelope of cash and instructions.”
“What can I say?” Fletcher lifted his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness. “The kid owed me a favor.”
“You are shameless,” Lily accused sternly. And sexy as could be, standing there, smelling of aftershave, his shaggy honey-brown hair all rumpled, and the hint of evening beard on his masculine face. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was getting ready to go on a weeknight date, instead of merely ending a workday.
His expressive lips tilted up in a playful half smile. “I prefer to think of myself as a facilitator,” he told her wryly.
“I’ll bet.” Lily sighed, wishing she didn’t recall quite so acutely just how much fun it had been to kiss him, even when the proud part of her said she should have been slugging him a good one. She tilted her head, wishing he didn’t have a good eight inches on her in height. The disparity in their bodies made him seem all the more overwhelming. And she did not want to be taken over by Fletcher Hart, D.V.M. Setting her jaw, she forced herself to focus on the reason for her being there. “Why did Mr. N. L. Spartacus want to send the staff flowers, anyway?”
Fletcher appeared just as distracted as she was as he let his gaze rove over her hair, face and lips, before returning with laser accuracy to her eyes. “The usual,” he said seriously. “N. L. Spartacus was grateful for the care he received here and wanted to show it.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Lily wasn’t sure whether she was buying any of this or not. She narrowed her eyes at Fletcher. “And then you set it up so I had no choice but to bring the arrangement over myself.” Thereby keeping her from pursuing her bet about Carson McRue. Not that she had been able to get anywhere near the actor that day, even when she wasn’t working. Production company security had the area well blocked off. And Carson McRue, it seemed, was not acknowledging anyone but show personnel. At least for now….
“Hey!” Fletcher palmed his chest, caveman-style. “How was I to know you’d show up in person?”
“Because it’s a well-known fact around town that all my part-time help goes home at 5:00 p.m. to cook dinner for their families. I always close.”
“Okay. I admit N. L. Spartacus and I had an ulterior motive, getting you over here. And I’ll show you what it is.”
She looked at him blankly. He took her by the hand and led her into the room adjacent to the reception area. At the end in a big wire cage was the yellow Labrador retriever she had seen the previous day. He was lying down when they entered, but thumped his tail in greeting and looked up at them with hopeful eyes. It would have been enough to break Lily’s heart, had she been a dog person. But she wasn’t, she reassured herself firmly. And furthermore, didn’t intend to be.
“Shouldn’t you be talking to his owner?” she demanded crisply. She desperately did not want this to be her problem and she was afraid if she stayed here any longer it might very well be.
Fletcher reported in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, “His owner died four weeks ago. Spartacus—we’ve dubbed him N.L. because he Needs Love—was with the old guy when it happened. His owner was in his nineties and Spartacus stayed with him from the time he had the heart attack until he was found by a neighbor, three days later.”
Lily caught her breath at the horror of the circumstances. “Oh, no.” The poor thing….
“Anyway,” Fletcher continued, his voice a little more gravelly, “Spartacus just went nuts when they tried to take the old guy away. He just wasn’t going to let it happen. So the animal control people were summoned. Spartacus got one whiff of the truck that was going to take him to the pound and knew it wasn’t for him, so he broke loose and ran off.”
Lily pressed a hand to her heart. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Then what happened?” she asked, the tragedy of the situation almost overwhelming her.
Fletcher shook his head, a brooding look coming into his eyes. “No one really knows. Three days ago, Spartacus showed up again at the house where he used to live, vomiting and so weak he could barely stand. This time the neighbors called my clinic, asked me to treat him. So I got in my pickup and went out to get him.”
Lily looked back at Spartacus. “Needs Love” was certainly appropriate. She had never seen a dog with such a sad and lonely expression. If only he weren’t so big. And strong looking. If only he were a cat. Cats, she knew. And yet he had his own appeal in that handsome big-dog way. His thick short fur was a pale, almost white-gold, and there was a stripe of darker gold down the center of his back that matched the color of his ears. On impulse, Lily hunkered down and reached out to touch him through the wires on the cage. She could feel his ribs sticking out prominently as she stroked his belly. She wondered how he had survived on his own for four weeks. She looked up at Fletcher as Spartacus leaned over to nuzzle the back of her palm affectionately with his black nose. “What was wrong with him?” she asked, still trying like heck not to get emotionally involved here, as his whiskers tickled her skin.
